Three's Company
by AmIAPrettyLady
Summary: Sherlock and John are engaged and waiting rather (im)patiently for their wedding in a few months. But neither expect to postpone the event, until they find out that Sherlock's a carrier rather suddenly. But there's another surprise waiting for them. (I'm bad at summaries, it's good, I promise).


Sherlock had locked himself in the bathroom for the fifth morning in a row, the retching sounds he made weren't helping John who was sat at the table attempting to eat his breakfast. As far as John could tell, it seemed to be some kind of stomach flu, which other people might not be surprised by but John knew that Sherlock was actually very sanitary in his experiments, if a little unconventional in how he achieved those conditions. The fact that such a bacteria could enter the detective's body without being immediately killed was rather surprising to the doctor.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John called, having abandoned his breakfast with a sigh.

There was a short silence during which the toilet flushed and the sink ran for a bit before Sherlock emerged, "I'm fine, John." It was the same thing he said the last four mornings, twice in the afternoon, and once in the evening-that bout had been a serious mood-killer for them both.

"You're not 'fine', Sherlock. This is the fifth morning you've been sick right after waking. At least let me draw some blood and run a test to make sure it's nothing serious."

"I'm _fine_, John. It'll pass," the brunette asserted.

"It might, but how can you know for certain if you don't know what it is? For all we know it could be some new virus you accidentally stumbled upon during one of your experiments."

The tall man scoffed, "I haven't done anything of the sort in nearly two weeks, John. And even if that were true, don't you think you'd have it by now as well?"

John sighed. He had a point. "Maybe it has a long incubation period."

Sherlock leveled his best _don't be dull, John_ look.

"Let me draw blood, if not for your own sake then for mine," John asked. "Please?"

"One vial," Sherlock conceded with a sigh.

It didn't take long to draw the blood, and soon after John finished getting ready to leave for the clinic where he hoped he could run the blood through a few tests to at least rule out the worst of the possible illnesses. Thankfully it seemed he was able to get it in and the nurse running the machine told him there would be a few hour's wait until the results came back.

John busied himself with the patients. Diagnosing early croppings of the flu and placating paranoid mothers with hiccuping infants. Sure enough, a few hours later, a nurse brought a folder with the test results. He scanned them, noting the absence of any viral signs or even anything that would cause an illness as severe as Sherlock had. Minor dehydration, blood sugar bordering on low, and...wait...hCG? What the hell? Elevated hCG was a sign of pregnancy. The doctor flipped to the top of the page to check the name. _W. Holmes_. Exactly as he'd given it.

He had his phone out and dialing Sherlock's number in seconds. It rang five times before John heard the rumbling bass of his fiance. "Break time already, John?" the younger man drawled suggestively.

"Not quite, love," John replied with a sigh. "I got your results and you won't believe what they say."

He could practically hear the detective stiffen, "What do they say, John?"

"Nothing unusual, or nothing I hadn't already expected except..."

"Except what, John?"

"Your hCGs are raised."

There was a pregna-err...very, very tense-silence.

"Sherlock?"

John heard his fiance clear his throat, "I'm here, John. Are you certain they're my results?"

"Absolutely."

There was a long sigh, "Well. That's certainly unexpected, but it does explain everything I've been feeling the past two weeks."

"_Two weeks_? This has been going on for two weeks and you didn't tell me? Sherlock, we talked about these things, remember?"

"It didn't feel like anything serious and I didn't want to bother you with a minor problem I easily put aside."

"Pregnancy is serious, Sherlock," John deadpanned.

"Well I didn't think that could be an issue, _doctor_. Unless you haven't noticed, I am a man and men don't typically get pregnant."

John ran a hand over his face. He had another patient in five minutes and he wasn't sure he could handle finding out he was going to be a father without having the proper time to process the information. "Mrs. Hudson is going to go ballistic," he finally commented.

"She'll be very pleased, I'm sure."

"What are we going to tell everyone?"

"Why tell them anything? They can figure it out themselves if they so wish."

"And what do I tell Lestrade when you have to take a sick break at a crime scene?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there, John," Sherlock sighed. He highly doubted he'd be getting sick at crime scenes.

"I suppose. I've gotta go, patient in a few."

"Another paranoid mother? Or is it yet another flu?"

John chuckled, "The flu, I suspect. Considering it's a fifty something man."

"You never know, John."

"I suppose I don't. Love you, see you soon."

"Love you too," there was a heavy sigh. "Get pickles."

John chuckled, "Cravings already? Or an experiment I probably don't want to know about?"

"Cravings," the detective sighed. "I hope you realise this is all your fault."

John rolled his eyes, "Yes, of course it is. Because I was the only participant in the creation of our child."

Sherlock huffed, "Just get me pickles," he demanded. "And ham."

"Pickles and ham it is. Be home soon, love. Don't burn down the flat."

"I love you."

John sighed and smiled, "I love you too. Now I've really got to go."

He hung up just as his next patient entered his office.

It wasn't long before the rest of the symptoms emerged. Sherlock's already volatile moods became even less predictable, his bouts of self doubt turning him into a silent, depressed wraith for anywhere between thirty minutes and three hours. They told Mrs. Hudson shortly after John got home that day, figuring it best to get it out of the way. Lestrade was a different matter entirely. Despite Sherlock's assertions, the DI wasn't as much of an idiot as the detective painted him to be and he noticed Sherlock's sometimes pallid complexion at early morning crime scenes. Greg didn't say anything, at first. Thinking John had it under control. Until he stumbled upon Sherlock retching in an alley a few yards from a scene.

"Is everything alright with him?" the DI asked John while gesturing in the direction of the alley. "He hasn't been looking so well the past few weeks."

"It's just a stomach bug," the doctor replied without looking Lestrade in the eye. "I tried to get him into the clinic but he wouldn't have any of it," he'd learned the best lies carry at least a pebble of truth.

"Shouldn't he be better by now?"

"One would think," John sighed.

Sherlock arrived back at the scene and John handed him a pack of crisps which the detective ate three of before frowning and checking the label. "Why are these dill? I don't like the dill ones, John."

John sighed, "You liked them fine yesterday, and the day before that."

"Yes. Well, now I don't."

The shorter man rolled his eyes, "You're impossible."

"I'm pregnant, John, cravings change."

Both had forgotten Lestrade's presence, who stood slack jawed and staring at the pair as if they'd both sprouted horns. "You're what?" he finally choked out.

"Oh dear," John sighed at the same time Sherlock shrugged and stated, "Pregnant, Lestrade. You know how I despise repetition."

"How is that even possible?" the DI demanded.

Sherlock heaved a long suffering sigh, "Well, you see, Detective Inspector, when two people love each other very much they-"

"Yes, yes, I know that! But you're a man!"

"Really? I'd been under the illusion I was a woman all this time. Oh dear, John, I do so hope this won't change things between us."

"Don't get smart with me," Lestrade reprimanded. "Men can't get pregnant."

John put up his hands to stall any comment his fiance was about to make, "Stop. It does no good to argue with him when he's feeling sarcastic, all he'll do is snap and call you an idiot and then five minutes later he'll feel sorry and apologise profusely. Then he'll think he's done something unforgivable and won't look me in the eye for the next hour. So just stop. Yes, I'm perfectly aware that men don't usually get pregnant, but I ran the tests myself. I'm taking him in for an appointment in a few days to confirm that everything's going smoothly. Now, can we _please_ get back to the case?"

"Oh, I figured that out ages ago," Sherlock waved his hand about dismissively.

Lestrade blinked in shock. Considering the thin man hadn't had more than two minutes to look at the body before he ran off to empty his stomach in an alley, "And why didn't you say anything?"

Sherlock blinked owlishly, "I was a bit preoccupied with my body's rather sudden decision to expel my breakfast."

"Which is really rather surprising considering all you had was half a piece of dry toast and a swig of tea before you dashed out the door," John added.

"Irrelevant, John. My womb is expanding and upsetting my stomach, I get sick whether or not I've consumed food."

"I know how pregnancy works, Sherlock. I went to med school, remember?" John replied. "I was surprised your stomach actually had anything to expel."

"I may have had a bit of a midnight snack as well."

There was a brief silence during which both the doctor and the DI shook their heads and sighed. "What did you get from the body, Sherlock," Lestrade finally asked.

"It was the daughter, obviously," he drawled. "The victim was married to a man just over half her age, a few years older than her daughter, he was obviously only in it for the money but she still tried to keep his attention judging by the amount of anti-ageing creams and regular botox injections she was using. Unfortunately for her, he was in love with her daughter but didn't want to get a divorce and lose his portion of the money. It's hard to tell if the daughter did it herself or if the husband had a hand in the planning, but at the very least the girl was planning on collecting their insurance money and escaping together."

"You got all that from two minutes with the body?" Lestrade asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Yes," Sherlock stated flatly, spinning on his heel and striding away. "Come along, John. I need sustenance."

John chuckled and jogged to catch up with his fiance, "Did you really get all that from the body alone?"

Sherlock smiled, "Not quite, no. I noticed the husband and the daughter were holding each other far too intimately for persons not related, and the daughter was refusing any questions as well as hiding her face, sure signs of guilt."

The blond man hummed appreciatively, "I thought so. You just like showing off. Now, are you craving anything specific or are you just hungry?"

"Angelo's will do. I'm rather in the mood for something Italian."

It wasn't long after that that Sherlock really noticed a change. His stomach wasn't horribly prominent yet, but his trousers had stopped fitting almost a week ago, shortly after the case of the murderous daughter. But when he stood in front of his full length mirror in only his dressing gown and pants, he could definitely see a slight distension if he stood facing sideways. He sighed heavily. It would only get worse, he knew. Once a woman started to show, they grew rapidly, and he noticed that he seemed to be growing slightly faster than some. Their first sonogram hadn't shown much, just that his womb was resting in a perfectly healthy spot and nothing else was out of the ordinary aside from his obvious gender difference. They had another one today.

John came up the stairs, grocery bags in tow as he called for his fiance. Sherlock flounced out of their room, still in only his dressing gown and pants. "Why aren't you dressed? We have to leave in ten minutes," the older man asked as he put the newly purchased milk in the fridge.

"None of my trousers fit, John," the detective whined. "What am I supposed to wear?"

"Had you told me before now I could have gotten you something," John replied with a sigh. "As it is, we don't have time to go buy new trousers so you'll have to make do with leaving them undone and keeping your coat buttoned."

The detective leveled his best appalled expression.

John returned his best _those are your options so deal with it_ expression.

The doctor came into the room smiling, "And how are we doing today?" he asked cheerily.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm pregnant, my trousers no longer fit, and everyone treats me like I'm some sort of fragile china doll."

"I do believe those last two are directly linked to the first," John replied evenly.

"And it's all your fault."

"Oh, we're back to this are we? Well excuse me for not knowing my male fiance had a fully functioning uterus."

"You are a doctor."

"And it's _your _body."

"Boys!" Doctor Ken barked. "Can we maybe get to the sonogram?"

They both sighed heavily and Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt, grumbling the entire time about unobservant army doctors and the inconvenience of trousers that no longer fit. Of course, he knew it wasn't really anyone's fault, but with all the hormones raging through his body he had a difficult time staying rational about his feelings. Honestly, this would all be so much simpler if he only had to endure morning sickness _or_ mood swings, but both really made him irritable almost constantly.

The gel of course was cold, and Sherlock stared at the monitor in anxious anticipation, waiting for the blurry, gray scale image of his and John's child to appear. It didn't take long, and with the racing, excited heartbeat came the sudden realization that there was more than one blurry blob of a child in his womb.

There were three. Three separate entities growing inside his body. Sherlock Holmes was not a fainting man, but in that moment, he certainly almost did just that. "John?" he drew out, fear evident in his voice.

John was just as shocked as his fiance, and as a doctor, he knew every possible risk multiple babies presented in a woman. The fact that those risks would be multiplied simply because it was a man carrying them was not lost on him either. Yet the thought of parting with any one of them wrenched his heart painfully and he discarded the notion immediately. No, if it became necessary for either Sherlock's survival or the survival of the other two growing fetuses, then he would consider the idea. Only if necessary. "It's going to be alright, love," he murmured. More to himself than Sherlock.

"Three, John," the tall man sighed. "_Three_."

John smiled softly, "Two more to love."

With that, Sherlock smiled too. Three little John's to raise. Three adorable round faced, blonde, miniature versions of the most beautiful man Sherlock ever knew. He was absolutely determined to carry all three of them to term. Nothing would dare ruin this. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through. He huffed a laughed, "No more after this. I'll have it removed."

John gave a watery smile, "Agreed. Three is plenty."

A/N: I hope you liked it! Please review; good, bad, constructive, what have you. Please tell me if you want this continued into and/or after the pregnancy. Over and out, pretty people!


End file.
